


Decadence Divine

by Sethrine



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Creampie, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, Love Bites, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, SDT Vergil, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 08:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sethrine/pseuds/Sethrine
Summary: For someone who seems the proud, quiet type, Vergil’s rather loud when it comes to wanting or needing intimacy. When he gets in one of those moods, it’s not that hard to tell.





	Decadence Divine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zelayan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelayan/gifts).



> This is the first time in YEARS that I've written full-on smut, no stops, all the good shit.
> 
> I blame my lovely Pizza Thots for their ideas and contributions.

For someone who seems the proud, quiet type, Vergil’s rather loud when it comes to wanting or needing intimacy. Perhaps it’s because he was starved of much needed physical affection for so long, or he just finds the most comfort with you, but when he gets in one of _those_ moods, it’s not that hard to tell.

He starts with a bit more physical contact over the course of several days, hands persistent at the small of your back or your hips, even in more public places where he usually remained more reserved. It’s a tame change, but one to take note of.

His kisses linger, as well, his usual short, restrained pecks changing to longer, more intimate exchanges that leave you breathless.

A final sign of his usual restraint leaving him, however, is a single, thoughtful gift he leaves out for you to stumble upon, usually ranging anywhere from a lovely collection of poems to some form of jewelry. It’s always something sweet and well-thought-out, but it is merely a distraction that allows him the quickest way to get his hands on you.

This time, he leaves a box of chocolates for you on the dining table, the embroidery and accompanying bow both lined with gold and looking every bit as extravagant as you’re sure the sweet treats are inside.

“Thank you, Vergil,” you say sincerely, only marginally surprised when you feel a single arm wrap around your middle from behind.

He hums in acknowledgment as you open the box, revealing the delicate chocolates hidden within, each individually encased in a frilly, open-top wrapper. There is an assortment of flavors, a small card within detailing each careful ingredient hidden within the middles, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed at the choices.

“Will you have one?” he asks, leaning in to leave a tiny kiss against your cheek.

“Maybe I should wait until after dinner,” you respond, your heartbeat quickening as Vergil leaves a persistent trail of light pecks to your neck, the sensation sending pleasant tingles across your skin.

“Just one,” he presses, and you find yourself quickly falling under his spell of a mood.

“Pick for me?”

He leaves another touch of his lips to your skin before plucking the flavor card from your weak fingers, eyes scanning over the choices for the briefest of moments. He shifts to drop the card on the table, reaching for the chocolates and pulling out a small, unassuming piece with a drizzle of white across its dark, rounded surface.

You don’t ask the flavor he’s chosen, fully intending to guess it on your own as you reach up to take the treat from his hand. Vergil is one step quicker and moves the chocolate to your lips, prompting you to open them. He pops the morsel into your mouth, fingers just grazing your bottom lip on the retreat, and you find yourself making an effort not to let out a whimper at the tingle such a brief caress leaves behind.

The chocolate melts against your tongue after only a few seconds, bitter and dark, but pleasant and smooth. Breaking the shell, you’re immediately surprised by the burst of flavor that greets your taste buds as well as the even silkier cream of the inside. You hum your astonishment, savoring the taste as it continues to melt against your pallet until all that remains is the bitter-sweet aftertaste.

“It’s vanilla, right?” you take a guess, turning with a smile in place. It would be just like Vergil to choose something so simple, but so decadent.

The atmosphere shifts with your change in position, and before you can say anything else, you’re being pushed against the table’s edge by Vergil’s body pressing snuggly against yours. His hands are cupping your jawline, pulling you up just as he swoops in for a devouring kiss. His tongue is instantly against yours without any preamble, licking against soft tissue and teeth and lips in long, languid strokes that leave you whimpering for more when he pulls away momentarily to kiss along your jawline.

“French vanilla,” he corrects, your ears just barely picking up his words through the fog that was quickly overriding your thoughts.

“It’s good,” you say, gasping at the barely-there graze of teeth against your earlobe.

“Even better on your tongue,” he says, voice pitched lower and words very nearly a growl, and he shifts to overwhelm you anew.

Things begin to move so quickly, but far too slow. Your clothes fall from your body with little effort on your part, some ripped from Vergil’s excitement at getting at more of your flesh. You barely have time to mourn yet another of your favorite shirts laid to waste before Vergil is biting at your revealed skin, creating blooming marks of red that were sure to get darker as the next few hours passed.

Your hands are not idle; as Vergil devours your very being, your grasp at his shoulders, his hair, his clothes, keening and panting and squirming under his ministrations. Cold, polished wood presses against your back, and it takes you out of the fog for just the barest second to register that you’re now flat against the dining room table before Vergil is on you again, suddenly void of any clothing on his person.

He’s insistent as he presses against you, hips rolling against yours and kisses sinfully distracting from the hands now ridding you of the remainder of your clothing.

“Sh-should we…should we move this to – ah!”

You’re shushed by Vergil literally _dropping_ to the floor, hands spreading your legs and mouth immediately where you wanted him most. It’s such a shocking move that you very nearly come off the table, all-together, back arching violently and thighs simultaneously bracketing Vergil’s head.

He is seemingly unfazed, perhaps even welcoming the pressure of your thighs against his face as his hands grab your hips and pull you even closer to the edge of the table, allowing him more room to access you entirely. He growls against you when your hands find their way into his silver-white hair and _pull,_ the sound vibrating against sensitive flesh and causing a shout to leave your kiss-swollen lips.

He is almost voracious in his appetite for you, building your pleasure higher and higher with each touch of his lips and stroke of his tongue. Questing fingers soon join the mix, and you’re finding it increasingly harder to keep your noises at a somewhat respectable level. Every time you quiet down, however, Vergil’s tongue strokes harder, his fingers twist just so, and you’re shouting your praises to the heavens above, which only eggs him on.

It’s no wonder how quickly the coil in your stomach tightens, how you are both excited by the messy sounds from your body and Vergil’s mouth. There’s no surprise when your first orgasm hits you suddenly and without warning, your vision whiting out for mere seconds as a sharp cry escapes you.

You’re only aware of the bruising press of fingers into the flesh of your hips when you’re finally able to make a coherent thought, aware of the harsh, gasping pants coming from Vergil as he rises and presses against you once more.

His excitement is evident, cock hot and hard as it presses between your legs. You jump at the touch, sensitive from his ministrations. Vergil takes a moment of pity and runs his hands down your shaking thighs, trailing them back up and continuing up your body. As he does this, he angles his hips just right and pushes into the snug embrace of your body with little effort, following the flow of his hands as he moves ever closer.

Below him, you’re already a wreck, gasping his name and all but clinging to his hands as his fingers thread with yours. He follows up with nibbling kisses against your neck, tongue dragging against blooming marks before sinking teeth once more into the hypersensitive areas.

A sudden, sharp thrust has him seated fully within you, a blessing as it is complete torture, and for what feels like an eternity, he is still. Had you any capability for thought, you would have wondered why he stopped then; his oddly labored breathing and the nearly crushing grip of his hands against yours should have been enough signs.

Vergil was losing his control.

“P-please,” you whisper, voice high-strung and almost whiny as you lean into your beloved. “Please, Vergil, p-ah, _please_!”

You are silenced with a low growl against your ear, only for your voice to ring throughout your home as his hips push harshly into yours. It was a warning, but your one-track mind was unable to comprehend it.

“You have me,” you continued, tongue poking out to lick at the shell of his ear. “You have me, so do whatever you want. _Fuck_ me, Vergil.”

He snarls against your ear, bodily pressing you into the table for all of three seconds before his hips are pulling back, cockhead just barely keeping snug within you-

His hips thrust forward swiftly, and you shout for all to hear as he finds his pace, fast and hard and _devastating_. All you can do is wrap your legs around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into the small of his back to help pull him impossibly closer.

There is a sheen of sweat forming along the press of your bodies, though you hardly mind. You’re barely aware of it, or anything, for that matter. There is only Vergil as well as the constant press and pull of his body, a tide that washes you ashore and pulls you back to sea in a never-ending loop. You’re drowning in the sensation that his him, body wound up and muscles pulling tight with ever hard press of his cock within you.

Your second peak is upon you when Vergil suddenly tears himself away from you, a surprised, startled cry leaving you as you are left empty and nearly sobbing for him to come back. Clarity comes back to you swiftly in the form of a low, demonic growl, and you’re aware that the very atmosphere has shifted and changed before impossibly large hands are pulling you up and flipping you around.

For a moment, your fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, your body overly sensitized and vulnerable just as your mind was still trying to pick up the frayed pieces left in the dust of passion that had consumed you. Those same hands wander the expanse of your back, one pressing you against the cool tabletop as the other roams downward to grasp at your hip.

“ _Still_ ,” he says, and you’re very aware that Vergil wasn’t quite himself, but _more_.

Your body relaxes almost instantly against the table, heart drumming against your chest and heated breaths nearly leaving a fog against the shine of the wooden surface below you. There’s a rumble not unlike a deep purr that shakes the air about you, and then you feel him pressing closer.

In his triggered form, Vergil is much larger in every sense of the word.

His cockhead presses against your entrance, and you can’t help but shake and gasp as he presses forward in small increments. A devil he may be, but Vergil prided himself in being careful with you, especially in your current predicament.

You gasp and groan with each increment he presses in, his hips undulating in slow strokes that continue to fill you. He’s so much bigger, so much _deeper_ that you can practically feel him in your throat. An exaggeration, sure, but it feels as if he’ll never stop filling you until suddenly he does with a rumbling growl that feels as if it vibrates from within you.

Vergil has effectively rendered you mindless, and when he finally begins moving slowly in a show of stunning control, all you are capable of are mindless sentences and praises, whimpers and pitchy moans as your damp fingers attempt to hang on to something, _anything_ to ground yourself.

It doesn’t take long for him to start off a brutal pace, one that has you seeing stars in a matter of seconds as the coil within you breaks. The pleasure is deep and profound and has you shaking against him.

Suddenly, you’re being shifted, body nearly limp as you let him do with you as he pleases. You’re in his lap, now, legs spread impossibly wide around the sheer girth that is his demonic form’s thighs. The new angle allows him an even deeper penetration, if it’s even possible, and it allows him to grope at the flesh of your body as much as he pleases without the hindrance of a table.

Whatever control he had is just as suddenly gone, and he’s slamming into you with brutal precision that has you sobbing his name, begging him for more, _please, Vergil, more!!_

Your nerves are oversensitive, limbs jumping with each pass of his cock through the channel of your body. Tears spring to your eyes, a confused mix of extreme pleasure bordering on pain, but you can endure.

Vergil’s close, if the increasing, growling grunts leaving his closed maw and the sharp pinpricks of his claws against your sweaty flesh are anything to go by. You do your best to hang on for the ride, trembling arms reaching back so that your hands can grasp at the soft, leathery feel of his skin.

Your touch is apparently exactly what he needs. His thrusts become just on the side of too hard, and then his hands are practically bruising your skin as he grips you tight against him. A final handful of thrusts has you screaming hoarsely, the sound of your own pleasure being drowned out by the near-deafening roar of Vergil’s own orgasm.

There’s a moment where you’re sure you blacked out, a blissful peace that lasts all of ten seconds before you’re aware of your surroundings. You’re still crying, your body trying to catch up to the sheer emotional experience you just had.

You can feel Vergil’s chest heaving beneath you, his body having already reverted back to its human form after finding release. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, though he doesn’t seem to mind, instead focusing what energy he has in nuzzling against your neck.

He shifts slightly, and you make a tiny sound of distress at feeling him shift _within_ you, as well. There’s a slick feeling between your legs, and chancing a glance down proves exactly what you already knew.

“I’ve made a mess of you,” Vergil breathes against your damp skin, damn near feeling his satisfied smirk press itself into your shoulder.

You shiver at the feeling of questing fingers ghosting down your body, jerking and whining in your beloved’s hold as they press and prod against where you’re both still connected. He shushes you gently and pulls his hand away, holding it before you so that you can see the utter mess of his actions.

“In half an hour,” he growls suddenly, teeth gently grazing your earlobe and sending prickly sparks of pleasure down your spine, “after I’ve cleaned you up, I’ll have you again in our bed.”

You already knew how the night was going to play out, and though you were worn out, at that moment, you would be ready to go again, soon enough.

When Vergil was in one of _those_ moods, it wasn’t that hard to tell, and you were prepared for whatever he had in store.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Your feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> As always, see ya around!


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